Libertas
by tigerfeet
Summary: Kept as a personal slave to a Roman officer, a broken woman is rescued from Marius' camp and travels back to Hadrian's Wall with the knights. She finds something in Tristan neither ever expected. TRISTAN / OC, M for later chapters
1. Prologue

_**(A/N: In going through my fic list I deleted a bunch of WIP's that I was clearly never going to update again / had no interest in working on and stumbled across this one. This ironically enough coincided with me refinding my King Arthur DVD which has been missing for the better part of three years. Finding it meant I had to watch it INSTANTLY and was reminded of just how horrifically in love I am with Tristan haha (I tend to do that, fall in love with fictional characters….it helps when they are portrayed by attractive men of course) and so my muse for this was kickstarted….after like 5 years of not updating it. **_

_**Instead of rewriting I just decided to give it a reworking and as such am posting this so if it's familiar (which it may or may not be) it's because this fic was once titled Mea Culpa. Basic plot will remain the same, though I never got far enough into it to really have a plot but you know. This will be a Tristan / OC fic so if you do not like OC's you should run away now. **_

_**I do not own any of the knights….as much as I would like to own basically all of them for various purposes. I do however own my OC and any other character you do not recognize that will pop up from time to time.**_

_**Reviews are like crack to me…and I'm definitely open to concrit too so don't be shy. **_

_**Flame if you must, flames feed my muse :D**_

_**I'm rotating writing my WIP's so updates might take a bit as I also have to work and put food on the table and am working on some own writing projects to try and sell / option / publish so I'm juggling a bit but I'll try to be regular about this, no promises. On with the show!)**_

_**Prologue**_

When pushed past the point of breaking, it's incredible what one can often endure. After spending weeks in the grip of forcible captivity the senses dwindle and the veil between reality and wishful illusion becomes paper-thin.

Iona was lucky enough to have relinquished the concept of reality without much hardship. Her dreams, however, were no longer enough to allow her to hope. Her strength had near given out and with it went the belief that she would not succumb to the same fate so many others did; that she would not meet her end as a "pet" to a mad man. Tiny flickers of hope and dreams had abandoned her and left her mind to slip somewhere much darker and disconnected. It was a blessed fact that when reality dissolves into something less than what it is intended to be, even the most horrible acts and events become somewhat easier to bear. Losing one's sense of reality also bore the relief of coating oneself in an armor of numbness and apathy. That was all she had left; Iona had been broken.

If she were pressed to make an estimate, as far as Iona could tell she had been held prisoner for the better part of a month. Shackled to a heavy chain not more than a foot in length, she was kept in a tent made of thick hide at the edge of Marius' encampment. She was little more than the personal property of a Roman soldier of great rank, Cassius, who by his account had rescued her from the long weeks of discomfort locked in a dungeon cell. One form of hell for another did not seem like much of a salvation to Iona, however; in all honesty she would have rather been still caged in the dungeon than be faced with her current surroundings.

Accommodations, after all, were comparable; a hard earthen floor icy to the touch courtesy of the winter's harsh bite; meager, rations consisting of water that had languished in a skin for days, stale bits of bread, and game meat so charred it was near inedible; even then that was _when_ she got anything to et at all. She had nothing to keep the elements at bay but the thin fabric of the plain cotton shift she was clad in; which explained why she had come down with fever and congestion so readily. Her binds scraped at her flesh with even the slightest movement; open sores on her ankle and around her wrists constantly raw and bloodied. There was certainly nothing of physical comfort for her even in an officer's tent.

Everything else paled in comparison to her punishments, unfitting for anyone still drawing breath no matter what their crime may be. Enduring condemnation and the repetitive reciting of righteous scripture; dealing with the various physical tortures at the hands of Marius' 'holy' men; and even having the stench of death hanging heavy in the air of the dungeon would have been more livable to Iona than what she was being put through above ground.

Never would she have expected to be pulled from its depths only to be met with the loathsome task of becoming "personal servant" of the guard. A title bestowed on her, of course, to toy with her mind into thinking she was more than just a common concubine. It was bad enough she was made to tolerate Cassius' advances, his touch and his stench on her; that she could barely withstand on it's own. It was when his mood was favorable and he let any number of his men access to her so gracious services that turned Iona's stomach and made her skin crawl.

Each night, her mind became unoccupied and it was instinctive reaction to reflect on her vile daily duties; horrible images recounted in her mind and scarring her all over again. It was then that she wished for sweet release, never again to see the filtered light of day. But she was trapped in a nightmare and every morning she was reminded that it was one from which there would be no waking from.

Iona's escape was only in sleep, just for the sole chance of catching a dream that was now so fleeting and rare. In sleep and in dream she could be anywhere but confined to the tent and the fate that had become her existence. She longed for an exceptionally vivid dream that enticed all the senses. Perhaps one in which she could feel the gentle kiss of a spring breeze against her cheek or smell the dewdrops and the freshness of the dawn. Or maybe to dream of running through the woodland, free to indulge her inner child and throw caution to the wind. In dreams lay peace and joy, and it was an exceptionally cruel fate that it was dreams now too, that she was denied.

Being confined by chain and shackle, at the very least she had much time to devote to sleep, even if it was spent shivering on a cold dirt floor. Sleep could go on forever and ever. Or at least it could seem that way, and Iona did everything in her power to prolong it if she could; not that it ever really worked that well. The sound of fire and steam, the smell of filth and molten metals being formed into weaponry; the taint of blood in the air spilled from some unfortunate obstinate serf would always send her hurtling back into wakefulness with miserable force.

Reality had broken her spirit and worn her down. Physically, she could feel herself dying a little more with each passing day; mentally, she didn't have the mind to care.

If her dreams were gone and never to return, it was then only death that would be a blessing. It was only in death that she would finally be free.


	2. Chapter One: Salvation: Pt One

_**(A/N: Yay, another chapter already, though they come quick when you're just revising haha. Probably the last update for this until mid to late next week. Anyways, this one is sort of another establishing chapter, not very long and not much dialogue but I promise the next brings better things….and knights! Chapters will also be longer from here on out which I think is always a positive haha. Thanks for the reviews, keep them comin'!)**_

_**Salvation Pt. One**_

The end of Marius' tyranny came as unexpectedly as it had begun, and in the most roundabout way imaginable. What had started as a fairly straightforward, albeit dangerous, task for Arthur and his knights soon proved anything but. In traveling to the encampment they discovered not only was there a Roman family to be brought back to Hadrian's Wall, but an entire small village as well. Not only were these people to be taken out of the Saxon's path, but liberated from the oppression of the elitist; one who worked under the guise of god and used religion to defend his actions.

Taking a caravan of villagers along for the journey was something Arthur and his men were vastly unprepared for. It wasn't just the precious time it took in preparing the villagers to take leave, but the fact that so many were in poor or failing health; so many had come to injury at the hands of Marius' men. Getting the caravan organized and moving was one thing, but getting the people back to the wall without conflict and casualty was another situation entirely. Having witnessed the atrocities the peasants had been subjected to without due reason, however, Arthur was not willing to leave them to fend for themselves. Villagers who had virtually everything, dignity included, taken from them were not about to stand and face an entire army if he could help it. Arthur would see them to safety if it was the last thing he did.

Somewhere between fevered sleep and wakefulness, Iona lay oblivious to what was happening around her when the knights first arrived. Curled on the ground, with her shift pulled tightly about her, she didn't even have half the energy required to pay attention to what she heard outside the tent. Even if she had, she had already dismissed what sounds she picked through semi consciousness as sheer delusion. After all, since being captured she had already devised more than a dozen scenarios and occurrences that would result in reclaimed freedom. A Woadish attack would decimate the guards perhaps, forcing Marius to surrender both people and property. A village uprising would be even more glorious; rebellion deceiving in its strength and efficiency; an upheaval of the mighty by the supposedly weak. Iona had convinced herself that any event leading to rescue was so far beyond the realm of possibility, that delusion was all it would ever be. Fortunately for her, it was the one matter in which her opinion was most definitely wrong and her hopelessness was misplaced.

A guardsman's heavy foot fall a cold draft of air jerked Iona back alert. Awkwardly, she shifted upright and cursed harshly under her breath. It was bad enough to have to lay with the guards on days when her health wasn't compromised in any manner; being ill did nothing but heighten the disgust and displeasure and made her feel physically all the worse. She shuffled backwards slightly, trembling slightly and her head lowering in subservience as the guard crossed the span of the tent. The only thing she could look forward too was the chance that the act itself would be over fairly quickly if she were to be obedient and considerate to his needs. If she was lucky, Iona might even earn herself some water and bit of broth; something to sooth her stomach and give her the energy to fight the virus coursing through her veins.

"It's alright," A familiar sounding voice reassured her. "You mustn't be frightened; I won't harm you. Cassius is occupied…he will not know."

Iona raised her eyes to the slender and rather shaken looking guard. He hastily fumbled with a small ring of keys before loosing the shackle about her ankle. Though she regrettably had no idea as to just what his name was, Iona easily recognized him as one of the few low ranking officers who showed her a little compassion. Often he had been tasked to bring her food and drink, or rather whenever Cassius was particularly gracious, or thought it permissible. Even when she was denied food, said guard would bring her a little when he had a moment to slip away and when it would go unnoticed; sometimes he would even bring her actual scraps from the meals the guards themselves had partaken in, things quite different than what she was allotted. He was kind as far as Iona could tell, never really seeming like he belonged in the ranks in the first place; perhaps only there by obligation or the desire to please family. He was a rarity, that much was clear, but one she was thankful for.

Sitting dumbfounded for a few moments, Iona wasn't altogether sure whether she hadn't in fact fallen into another elaborate dream. Kindness aside, it was beyond comprehension that she was being loosed one of the infantry. Bringing her food without permission to was already something that would have inflicted swift repercussions were he to be found out. Punishment for slight misbehavior was bad enough, she couldn't fathom what would be brought down on him were he to be caught releasing the personal slave of his superior; he would more than likely be lucky to get by with his life.

A little cool water splashed onto the open wound on her ankle, pulled Iona harshly away from her thoughts once again. She whimpered and knocked his hands to the side, diverting the stream of water to the ground.

"Apologies," The guard mumbled, realizing he should have at least allowed her warning before attempting to clean the injury. "With no bandage it's likely to get infected anyways…I thought a little water may help with the pain, at least a little."

Nodding weakly, Iona accepted his hand in aid as she pulled herself to her feet unsteadily. "Wh-what are you doing? Why are you doing this?" She rasped, steadying herself against him, as the entirety of the tent seemed to swirl around her and her vision darkened momentarily. "Why have you loosed me? I don't wish to be tested, please…just put me back to chain."

"This is no test."

"I don't believe you." She hissed. "Cassius has sent you to determine both my strength and my will and I will be the worse for it should I make attempt to flee."

"I promise you." The guard assured her firmly. "Cassius doesn't even know of my whereabouts; he is far too concerned with other matters at present."

Pulling her to the front of the tent, the guard lifted the entry flap just barely enough to see out. Iona squinted her eyes and focused intently past the cloud of sickness that made it difficult to think of anything else. The encampment was a flurry with activity; both guards and villagers alike hurried in preparation for journey all despite the quite vocal protests of Marius. A group of men she did not recognize, however, was among them. A commanding dark haired man astride a beautiful white horse demanding the walled up entry to the dungeon brought down so as he could enter; his companions muscling away any of the guard who dared to stand in protest. It was everything she hoped for, and at the same time, everything that was next to downright impossible.

"This is in my mind." She squeezed her eyes shut. There was no chance she was standing of her own accord and taking in all of what was going on. "This is nothing but trickery, I'll count to five and you'll be gone and I'll be shackled once again."

"Iona, listen to me carefully." The guard gripped her by the shoulders and looked her square in the eye. "There is no time to second guess what I will tell you now. "These men amongst us are Sarmatian knights and they've come to escort us South back to Hadrian's Wall;_ all_ of us. A Saxon army is headed straight for this encampment and none are to be left to such a brutal fate."

"But Cassius…"

"If Cassius were to have his will carried out, he would have you bare and chained for them to do with what they will." He cut her off. "I've come to see that will is not carried out; you've suffered enough." Eye fixing on the guards just ahead, he dropped the flap of the tent so as to not draw suspicion. "The road will be long, and dangerous but you stand a chance if you leave this place with Cassius none the wiser. As soon as I've finished what I have to say you must exit the tent as quietly as you can; make for the edge of the camp, there are wagons there and enough villagers gathered already so that you will not be easily spotted."

Iona nodded, eyes wide with excitement and fear alike.

"In fact, it would be best if you could secure passage on one of the wagons itself; conceal yourself from prying eyes."

"And when Cassius returns, what then?" Iona asked fretfully. "What if he comes in search of me when he realizes I've been set loose?"

"He'll find a broken shackle." The guard said matter of factly as he crossed the tent again and began to pry the joint pins from the small metal cuff as quickly as possible. "In the excitement you either have broken free or one of the knights stumbled upon you and loosed you himself; even if he comes in search of you there is little he can do with the protection of the knights at hand. The will not willingly let a woman come to harm let alone one who is weak and wearied by mistreatment."

"Why are you doing this? I do not understand." Iona furrowed her brow.

"A call of conscious perhaps...I don't even understand myself." He replied, getting the first of the pins free. "Reason why is not important. Now quickly, you must go. The caravan is soon to depart and Cassius will be back in moments to prepare."

Iona stood rooted to the spot, mind racing with a jumble of emotions; fear being predominant and fear not far behind. For a moment it seemed as though she would need to be physically shoved out of the tent in order to get going.

"Go!" The guard asserted again. "Quickly, or we'll both be strung up!"

She nodded, a brief smile of gratitude passed her face before she turned on her heel and pushed past the flap of the tent. It took everything she had not to dart across the camp to the safety of the wagons and with great restraint she meandered a few feet away to a small cluster of pine trees by which she could conceal herself. Leaning against the sturdy trunk of the widest one, she took a moment to breath and to still her nerves.

Freedom was like rebirth; everything outside of the tent was fresh and new, alive and vibrant. For the first time in weeks she was outside of her own will and the crispness of the air was like heaven against her skin; even if it was bitterly cold and the wind whipped about her and dug at her skin like hundreds of icy needles. With a grin, she turned her face to the sky, blinking away it's overwhelming luminance and the gentle flakes of snow that had begun to fall. Even the painful frosted crunch of the ground below her bare feet was an oddly welcome change from the powder dry earthen floor of the tent. Any and all sensations made her feel alive in a way that was quite different than the marginally satisfying way of her dreams. In the few moments she took to catch her breath and take in her surroundings, she was no longer concerned with illness or pain; she feared no punishment, recapture, or looming treacherous journey. Iona simply indulged herself in everything she assumed she would never see again while among the living.

Calls for water drew Iona's attention across the camp. The knights had discovered the grim reality of the otherwise inconspicuous stone building; they had discovered the horror that was the reality of the dungeon. Too far away to see exactly what was going on, Iona at the very least saw the knights pull two still alive from the depths; two, out of how many locked below she could not tell. Death was to have been her fate, in some strange way she was thankful to Cassius for demanding her pulled from the pit; feelings that passed within a moment's time, replaced by the sorrow felt for the loss those of her people who died so needlessly, locked in cages too small for even a dog to move about.

Cassius was there across the camp, not far from where the knights lay the survivors. Iona saw him and a group of his men whispering, their eyes fixed in a dead stare at the goings on and chattering amongst themselves. She pulled herself a little closer to the tree and back from any possible eye line as the men scattered and Cassius strode arrogantly towards his tent. A sign to move onwards, and not linger too close for comfort, as was the realization that what was left of her body heat was being rapidly wicked away from her. This was no place for someone to brave the elements barefoot and so scantily clad; unless of course death via way of freezing was the desired end.

Wrapping her arms about herself tightly, Iona slipped out from behind the trees and made towards the small caravan of wagons being loaded. Hanging her head slightly, she masked herself behind strands of thick auburn hair pulled free from her tie. So consumed by the attempt to conceal her features from recognition by the guards, she had absolutely no idea she had garnered the attention of a rather keen observer making his own way towards the caravan.


End file.
